


unspoken

by crackthesky



Series: your touch an anchor [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (Slightly), F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, implied/referenced self-esteem issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackthesky/pseuds/crackthesky
Summary: one day, you think, Eskel will be able to hear the words you’re already saying.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Reader
Series: your touch an anchor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787905
Comments: 10
Kudos: 102





	unspoken

You hear the galloping hoof beats too late. 

They’ve been obscured by the churning rhyme you’re humming, the slow, steady song of home. 

“Lil’ Bleater, no!” Eskel calls, his deep voice edged with a hint of panic. From the sound of him, his rambunctious goat has left him behind in a quick burst of speed. She’s a nimble little thing, you know, liable to dance around the broad Witcher as he tries to corral her. 

There’s no time to turn, and you shriek with laughter as the small goat butts against the back of your knees. Her horns catch in your skirts for a moment, tangling like river reeds caught in the current. It sends you stumbling forward. You catch yourself against the heavy churn, still giggling despite the small sting of her horns, blunt though they are.

“I thought we were friends, little thief,” you tell Lil’ Bleater, who merely bleats at you around the mouthful of verdant green alfalfa sprouts she’s knocked from the pocket of your apron.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel says, practically tumbling into the lean-to in his rush. The goat prances away, eyeing him warily as she continues to munch on her prize. “Don’t you - oh.”

“Well met, Eskel,” you say, turning to face him with a soft smile. You wipe at your brow with the back of your hand, knowing that you are likely shining with sweat from the heavy work of churning. “You were right, I shouldn’t have let her know I have alfalfa in my pockets.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says, not meeting your eyes. You wish he would. You so often yearn for the sunlight of his gaze, the way his amber eyes go soft for you, like butter melting. His fingers flex. He scrubs a hand over his face, and you know his scars are pulsing. They’re vivid against his skin. It reminds you of the meadow near your birthplace, where the sorrel grew wild, leaves streaked with crimson veins. They are terrible scars, you know, but there is beauty in them too. 

“Are you hurt?”

“Just a little sore,” you say. It’s a soft kiss of pain, something summery in it, the ache of slipping from a tree branch when you’ve climbed just a bit higher than you should have. 

Eskel shifts, and you know the slight hunch of his shoulders. Before Eskel, you never thought a Witcher could look so small. You shake your skirts loose from their tangle and cross to him. His large hands flex, rising slightly as if to touch, and then he drops them back to his side. You catch your sigh between your teeth and swallow it down. 

The Path takes him from you often, and you bear him no grudge for it, but sometimes he returns to you with unsure hands, as if he worries that you will fade away like a dream should he touch. It is still new, though, this _thing_ between the two of you, a sprout unfolding into a stem, stretching closer to the sky. You are not patient, but for him, you will be.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and he sounds oddly helpless. “You are sure you aren’t harmed?”

You trace a hand over the bulk of his shoulder. It’s a light touch, a gentle summer breeze ruffling through the wildflowers, slipping over their petals like silk, and something in him eases. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” you say airily. “I’m hardier than you think. Though Lil’ Bleater may need to apologize to the chickens for stealing their treat.”

“I’ll get you more.”

You raise a brow. “I’ve a whole field of it,” you point out. “Besides, if you truly wish to make amends when none are needed, you can greet me with the kiss I’d like to have.”

That finally draws his gaze to you. In the light filtering into the lean-to, his eyes gleam amber, translucent like summer honey. His eyes always leave you greedy, feeling gold-drunk, a dragon coiled around her hoard. 

“Only if you’d like,” you remind him, because you will take nothing that he does not wish to give.

Eskel cups your face in his large hands, draws you close, and drinks from your lips. You hum into the kiss, your eyes fluttering closed. His fingers gain surety, the rough pad of his thumb dragging over the sweep of your cheekbone, and you drape your arms around his neck. He’s so broad against you, steady and grounding, an ancient oak firmly rooted. You tease a sharp breath out of him with your tongue. 

When you pull back, his eyes have darkened to the golden glow of a mostly-set sun. His hands slip to your waist, his fingers tight on the plush curve of your hips. 

“I missed you,” you admit boldly. Sya often tells you that you have a brazen tongue. You aren’t quite sure of that, but you know you tend towards bluntness. A hammer instead of a blade, Sya tells you.

Eskel makes a soft noise that you can’t quite place. He slides the tips of his fingers into the small gap between your skirts and your bodice, his amber eyes tracing over you. You refuse to be embarrassed. It’s true, after all, and you will tell him until it is not. But you do not think it will ever be untrue.

He pulls you in for another kiss, and this time, you can sense the teeth in him. The hunger. Eskel kisses you breathless, the pads of his fingers slipping higher on your bare skin. He kisses you until the world fades around you, until it feels quiet despite the chirp of the birds and the rustle of the breeze. 

You press closer still, tangling your fingers into his mahogany hair. He rumbles out a noise that arrows through you. You can feel his hand trailing up the ladder of your spine, leaving a blazing trail of heat behind it. Your bodice loosens as he tugs at the laces. The sweetly embroidered neckline dips low, catching on the thin fabric of the chemise, and you pull in a tight breath.

“Eskel,” you murmur. He dips his head to your neck, his breath whirling warm over your skin, and then - Lil’ Bleater makes herself known with a bleat and a headbutt. She mouths at your apron, trying to pull the pocket open for more alfalfa. 

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel hisses as you laugh into his shoulder. He leans down as she butts against you again with another faint cry, dismayed to find your pocket ransacked and empty. She turns her attention to him, butting against his large hands, and even though Eskel is swearing under his breath, he is gentle as he shoos her away.

The goat squawks her displeasure and flounces out of the lean-to. You’ve no doubt that she’ll take her revenge against the rolling hills of your herb garden, particularly the large stalks of sweet fennel she favors, often gnawing them down to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel says, looking sheepish, but at least there’s a smile lingering in the corner of his mouth. 

You press a kiss against the skin peeking over the neckline of his shirt. He’d shed his armor before coming to find you, clearly, and you hope he went into the cottage this time instead of leaving them outside, too polite to enter without you there to let him in. “It’s for the best,” you say with a low laugh. You nip at his skin, taste the salt of him. “Been a while since I’ve been tumbled in the hay.”

“A shame, that,” he says, and you are glad to hear the tease of it, to hear him start settling back into familiarity. His fingers trail low on your hips as you step out of his grasp. You catch his hand as it falls, wind your fingers between his thick ones like tendrils on a trellis. He makes a perplexed little noise, almost too quiet to be heard, and you glance back at him. 

Eskel is sun-drenched, the light streaming through the window to bathe him, to swallow him in its incandescent touch. His deep brown hair gleams dark under the light’s touch, a shadow of a crown, and sometimes you think you will never have words for the color of his eyes. They are too many things at once: the soft shimmer of coin glinting in low tavern light, the glory of a sun peeking over the horizon, the golden drip of a noblewoman’s necklace. He shares them with other Witchers, you suppose, but you think you would find his different still, a treasure all your own. 

Many women would not call him handsome, you know, too distracted by the scars carving canyons across his face. It is not something you understand.

You find Eskel attractive always, but like this, touched by light, gilded by the sun, he is something else. Your breath catches in your throat.

Eskel doesn’t seem to notice, his golden eyes fixed on where your fingers twine around his. You realize then. The breath caught in you grows thicker, and you ache for this man. 

You tighten your grip on his hand. When his eyes flit up to you, a darting little glance that reminds you of the nimble flutter of a hummingbird’s wings, you smile, soft and slow.

“Come,” you say. “As I said - I’ve missed you.”

His fingers tighten around yours, and then he follows you out into the warmth of the afternoon.

The short walk to your cottage takes longer than usual, the two of you swept up into each other’s current more and more, like shells caught spinning in the ocean’s waves. Eskel kisses the breath from you, pinning you against your front door, his knee between your thighs, tugging you close until your clothed cunt drags across the length of his muscled thigh, until you can feel the hard length of him against your hip. 

You fumble with the latch as he palms your breast, slipping his large hand down the front of your chemise. He kneads at the flesh as he mouths at your neck, scraping his teeth against the column of your throat. You whimper as he strokes a thumb over your nipple until it pebbles, the barest hint of lightning starting to flicker down your spine, like a summer storm still sparking on the horizon. 

The door unlatches, and you yelp as you go stumbling backwards. Eskel moves like water, his large form impossibly fluid, hooking an arm around your waist and steadying you. 

“Careful now,” he says lowly, a grin flickering at the edges of his lips like hearthfire.

You swat at him, but lean up to kiss him with a laugh as he sets you back on your feet. He nudges the door shut and pulls you back to him. You’ve never known a man so steady. There are moments where he reminds you of the stalwart rocks of the coast, unmoving despite the ocean’s howling waves, standing firm against the water’s pull. Instead, though, he is more the tide, sweeping into your life and then out again, an ebb and flow always. 

“Stop thinking,” Eskel says softly, and promptly kisses the thoughts right out of your head. You clutch at him in the haze of it. He enfolds your senses like fog, the taste of him sweet on your tongue, the prick of his teeth catching on your lower lip spreading through you. It’s the heat of his hand that brings you back to yourself, his large hand slipping under your skirt and between your thighs to cup your cunt. 

“Fuck,” Eskel groans, because you’re already wet enough to soak through your smallclothes, the cloth clinging to your cunt as he presses up against you until your hips jolt forward, chasing the friction of his palm. You grasp at his hair as he ducks his head to suck at your nipple, mindless of the barrier of your chemise, his mouth closing wet and hot around the stiff peak. His cheeks hollow slightly, and you can feel the rasp of his stubble. The sensation arcs through you, spitting sparks like forgefire. 

You wind your fingers into his thick hair and pull him tight against you with a quiet moan. Eskel rocks his palm against your cunt, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit. You clench, feeling your cunt pulse around nothing. “Off,” you say, tugging at his shirt, deeply grateful that he’d shed his jerkin earlier. You catch at the hem, start to lift it as best you can with him curved around you like a fern. 

You can feel the smile on his lips as he tightens them around your nipple, his tongue tracing over the pebbled furl of it. He pulls back and the damp fabric goes chill without the warmth of his mouth. Gooseflesh rolls over you like a fogbank, skittering across your skin.

“Impatient,” he chides. 

“Always,” you huff, because you have long demanded satisfaction in all aspects of life, and have long learned that sometimes you must push to get it. You shrug out of your loosened bodice, let it slip down you like a water drop slides across a leaf. Eskel pulls back to undress, his hand dragging across the length of your cunt, but you have greedy hands, and you don’t let him go far, slip your hands up the loose fabric. Your fingers skate against the defined planes of his stomach. The muscles jump beneath your fingertips, rippling, your touch a stone skipped over their surface. 

Eskel’s thick fingers slip into the ties of your skirts. They give with one quick tug, puddling around your feet. You step out of the froth of them and into his arms, catching the hem of his chemise once more, urging it up until he finally strips it off. 

He’s a sight, all coiled muscle, scars scattered across his torso like constellations. You corral him back towards your bed until he’s laid out on your linens, sprawled out like a feast. 

You peel off your chemise and let it drop to the floor. Eskel pulls in a sharp breath, the sound like whistling wind. Heat rises into your cheeks as he gazes up at you with something perilously close to reverence, a supplicant at your altar. 

“Beautiful,” he tells you, and you feel the same, gazing down at him, at the glow of his eyes and the carved sculpture of his body, and mostly - the tilt of his lips into something soft and sweet. You know better now, though, than to speak your thoughts aloud, at least for now. It turns something in him to stone. 

“Oh?” you say instead, crawling over him and settling on the washboard of his abs, your wet smallclothes sticking to skin. “I think you’re too kind, good sir.”

“Nay,” Eskel says, and though he’s playing along, there’s a quiet solemnity glinting in his eyes. His scars burn bright against his skin, and gods, he is so lovely it makes something in you twist. “I only settle for beautiful as there are no adequate words.” 

That shakes you. Oh, you think. Oh. You hide your fluster in his skin, leaning down to sink your teeth into the thick pillar of his neck. Eskel groans, his immense hands coming up to bracket your hips, and you push forward to suck marks into his tanned skin, to ruddy his skin like red wine lingering on lips. One hand slips down to palm your ass roughly, his blunt fingers squeezing and kneading. He rocks you forward with his grip, lets your cunt slide against the ridges of his muscled stomach. 

The gasp spills from you like wine, and Eskel drinks it from your lips as he pulls your soaked smallclothes to the side. He swipes his thumb over your clit, sends sparks skipping through you, the pleasure going from strikepoint to strikepoint, lightning caught in your skin. He circles your hole with a blunt fingertip, teasing against the sensitive, wet silk of your skin, and you catch his lips once more as he sinks a thick finger into you.

You can’t muffle the whimper, and he moans against your lips at the sound of it, your voice thickened to slow honey. Your cunt pulses. Eskel kisses the curse off your tongue as he starts to thrust, each slide of his fingers rolling you against his hard muscles until you’re keening. The pressure of his abs against your clit makes you tremble, and then he sinks another finger into you, and then a third. You spasm around the fullness, dropping your head onto his chest to pant against him. 

There’s sweat gleaming on your skin as you push back against Eskel’s fingers, driving them deeper in the clutch of your cunt.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Fuck, that’s it.”

He scrapes his teeth against the ridge of your shoulder. He pulls you down against him, your breasts soft against the hard plane of his chest, and the change in position grinds his fingers against a spot in your cunt that makes lightning arc up your spine. You clench, dripping around his fingers spreading you wide. 

“That’s it,” Eskel says again, his voice silk rasping against stone. “So pretty, sweetling.” 

He twists his fingers in the way you like, deft despite the size of them, and his other hand drops down to slip against the slick of your clit. White heat streak through you, pleasure like a falling star in the sky of your body, plummeting through you to burn hot in your cunt.

Your voice breaks on Eskel’s name as you shake apart on top of him. He pets at your back as you tremble against him, slowing the thrust of his fingers as you pant. Vaguely, beneath the ringing in your ears, you can hear him muttering sweet things to you.

He pulls his fingers from you. It sends steel-edged pleasure cutting through you.

You can feel the heat of his cock radiating against your inner thigh. Eskel catches your wrist as you start to reach for him, wanting to feel the weight of his cock in the palm of your hand, to feel the velvet drag of his skin against yours. 

“Not yet,” he tells you, and he tilts you off of him with a shift of his powerful hips. 

The yelp spills from you as you topple over onto the mattress with a small bounce. Eskel rolls over on top of you, cages you in. The corner of his lips is soft with a secret, and you squirm beneath the silk of his eyes, the way they trace over your features as if you are art.

“I want your cock,” you say, at the edge of a whine.

Eskel grunts at that, his eyes going dark. “I want to see you cum again,” he tells you, and then his mahogany hair is brushing against your collarbone as he ducks lower, pressing a biting kiss between your breasts, his mouth hot and sharp with pleasure against your skin. He licks and kisses his way down your stomach before setting his teeth against your hip bone, finally peeling away your sopping smallclothes. Your nerves buzz under your skin. 

“Eskel,” you sigh, and he dips his mouth to your cunt. His stubble scrapes across the delicate skin of your inner thighs. He shifts your legs wider with a nudge, the barest hint of the strength that lies just beneath the sweetness of him. The flat of his tongue sweeps through your soaked folds and you grab at his hair without thinking. The sizzle of sensation is sharp-toothed, digs into your bones, and when you buck, you can’t quite tell if you’re pushing forward or pulling back. 

He swings a heavy arm over your hips, presses you down like a flower between the pages of a book. You know you cannot move him with anything but your words. He peers up at you over the curve of your stomach and the swell of your breasts. “Okay?” he asks, and his lips are reddened and shining in the sunlight leaking through your shutters.

“Yes,” you gasp, because you have never shied from keen edges.

You can feel him smile against the wet of you. He leans back down and then his mouth is tight around your clit, until the pleasure cuts into the marrow of you. Eskel works you with his talented mouth, licks and sucks at you like summer fruit, the smallest hint of teeth gentle against your cunt. You jerk against the anchor of his arm, hips thrusting up as you toss your head back, sweat slicking the hair at the nape of your neck. 

“Please,” you babble, fingers fisting tight in his hair. “Eskel, Eskel, please.”

He hums against your dripping folds, and the way it resonates through you makes you think of how you’ve imagined the snap of magic against your skin, prickling and intoxicating. Your skin feels too small. The sensation of Eskel lapping at you, one thick finger deep in your cunt, rides the knife’s edge, half-pain, half-pleasure. He closes his mouth around your clit and sucks, hollowing his cheeks, and it snaps through you.

“Fuck!” 

Your trembling thighs clamp around Eskel’s head as you cum, back arching as much as you can beneath his firm arm over your hips. He lets you ride your orgasm out, still gently licking at you, just enough to keep the sparks rolling over your spine. 

He kisses the junction of your hip and thigh as you calm. 

“Gods,” you gasp. “You are a menace.”

Eskel laughs into your skin, low and sweet. 

“Come here,” you demand.

“Impatient.”

“Always.”

He slinks up your form. You lean up to catch his lips, taste the tang of yourself on his tongue. You cradle the back of his head as he sighs into the kiss. Some part of you wonders if all Witchers are soft at the core of them, or if it’s just Eskel, kind, giving Eskel, who thinks he has little to offer based on the map of scars scrawled across his face. 

His cock is heavy in your palm, all hot, silken skin. You stroke the length of him, relearn the heft and girth of him. Eskel moans into your kiss, his voice a deep rumble of noise. You huff a laugh against his lips, delighted at the noise, and twist your hand before thumbing at the head of his cock, smearing the wetness there down his length. 

You trace your tongue over the pulsepoint in his neck, feel the slow, lazy river current of his heartbeat. His cock twitches in your grip. You feather your fingertips under the ridge of the head before dragging your thumb against the same spot, relishing the soft hiss that flows from Eskel’s reddened lips. 

“You’re so good,” you dare to say, giving a quick upward stroke.

Eskel moans, his thighs trembling. 

“Look at you,” you murmur, pressing your lips against the blade of his collarbone. He stiffens, just slightly, and you catch yourself, change the words before they leave you. “Always make me feel so good,” you say, and his shoulders unwind, the muscles of them shifting.

You would like him to weigh heavy on your tongue, close your lips around the thickness of his cock, to gaze up at him from under your lashes until he gushes hot into your mouth. Eskel shies from it, though, and you are wary of pushing him too hard. You know that your bold mouth sometimes hammers where delicacy is needed.

You can feel his abs flexing against your knuckles each time you drag your hand up the length of his cock. When you nudge at him, Eskel sits back on his knees. His amber eyes gleam gemlike in the light, and you are again struck by the beauty of him, the strong sculpture of his features.

Eskel’s brow knits as you push to your knees as well, your legs quivering like a newborn fawn. “Are you sure?” he asks

You drape yourself over him like a silken cloak, settling just over his hips. “Yes,” you say, guiding his cock to your cunt. “I told you - I want your cock. I rarely change my mind.”

The way the head of his cock spreads you knocks the breath from your lungs. Your nerves sing with starsong, something bright and vast trickling through you, crackling just under your skin. Eskel steadies you as you sink down on him, as he splits you around his cock. He gazes up at you with his sungold eyes, so stark against the deep brown of his dark hair, and you think of how the sun gives life, how it shines on others to nourish them. 

He closes his eyes as you lean down to press your forehead against his. His lips part slightly, and you drag your thumb over the curve of them. Eskel turns just enough to press a kiss against your palm. Your stomach twists with something you can’t quite think about as you are filled with him, as your cunt flutters around his cock. 

“Eskel,” you say quietly, softly sweet, but you lose the rest of your words as he kisses you, his mouth fervent and consuming. 

You shift your hips. His cock drags against your walls, warms your veins with that biting pleasure, and his hands tighten on your hips. You remember the girth of him well, but the memories pale compared to the feel of him spearing deep, until it feels like there is nothing but him. His cock pulses as you flutter around him, clenching down tight on the weight of his cock. 

“Please,” you breathe, catching his lips in a kiss, rising onto your knees until just his tip is caught in your hole, the thick head stretching you wide. You drop back down onto his cock and you are already trembling. Lightning crackles beneath your skin. Eskel huffs a breath as you tighten around him, your cunt velvet around his length.

You lean forward and press your face into the junction of his shoulder and neck. The rhythm of your hips is a slow current, rising and falling like the ocean tide. Your breath is shaky against Eskel’s sweat-slick skin. His hand nestles into the hair at the nape of your neck, and he guides you back up so that you are looking down at him, a witness to his worship. 

“Eskel.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, gazing up at you as if you are the stars, something vast and unknowable above him. His fingers tighten on your hips, the pads of them digging into the plush flesh, and with a flash of that intense strength, he moves you. 

Eskel rocks up into you, fucks up hard into the clench of your cunt. His hips are steady with each hard push. He feels immense, as if you are molten metal in his forge of his desire, his to mold and reshape. You can feel each throb of his cock, feel him swell inside you. Hazily, beneath the fog of it all, you think that Eskel will always be under your skin, will line the edges of you for the rest of your life. 

You set your teeth against the salt of his skin, some part of you desperate to see that you sink as deeply into his skin as he has into yours. He grits out a moan. You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you down into his thrusts, rolling his hips to catch the head of his cock on the spot deep inside your cunt that slides a knife of pleasure through you. 

“So good,” you mumble breathily against him, tightening around him with each push of his hips. “Gods, Eskel, please.”

He whispers something you can’t quite hear, and then his hand is slipping between you both. You sob as he draws a tight circle over your clit, your nerves singed beneath the heat of his touch. Eskel presses a soft kiss against your lips as you clench viciously around him, the velvet of your cunt unrelenting, and you shatter. 

“Fuck,” Eskel hisses, and underneath the lightning strike of your own consuming pleasure, you can feel the way his abs tighten against you. He pulses inside of you, each twitch of his cock searing through you. He spills hot and thick in you, your cunt fluttering around him, his thighs tense beneath you. His groan is long and heated, a bonfire of sound. 

He catches your face in his hands, pulls you into a heated, messy kiss. There are little strikes of lightning still flickering across your skin. Eskel is throbbing in you, small spurts of cum still spilling into your cunt. The coiled muscles of his thighs flex and quiver beneath you. 

The two of you spend a moment just breathing. He brushes his fingers against your jaw, his touch delicate. 

“Menace,” you tell him, voice soft. 

Eskel pulls you into another kiss to hide his smile.

It’s easy to get lost in him, to be carried off in the steady kindness of him. He kisses you sweetly, the corner of his mouth soft with something secret. You groan when he pulls out of you, the blade of sensation a true cut now. 

Eskel coaxes you to curl up on the bed. He rises, and you only have enough energy to voice a wordless complaint, trying to catch him by the wrist and pull him back to you.

“Just a moment, sweetling,” he says, but you can hear the laugh lining his voice. You crack an eye open to glare at him.

You’d thought he would know, considering his enhanced senses, but you don’t think he’s expecting your gaze, considering the look on his face. Eskel is perhaps the most reverent lover you’ve had, but softness painted across his visage as he peers down at you steals your breath away. It’s something gossamer, a thin, shining spider’s thread woven into an intricate web of emotion that Witchers aren’t meant to feel.

He doesn’t seem to realize it, though, that he is laid bare to you for just a breath, and you close your eyes as he turns away. He returns to the bed with a cloth and you wipe each other as clean as you can. 

You collapse back onto the bed, already aching, and peer up at him. Eskel slips into the bed and curls around you. His scars shine red in the afternoon light, and he is beautiful. You hope that one day, you can tell him that. But today, you cannot, so you simply say: “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Eskel says, his voice petal-soft.

You drowse in the patch of sunlight illuminating your bed, your fingers tracing soft circles on Eskel’s skin, feeling contentment settle over you like a blanket. It is quiet, and sweet, and in the silence of affection, the two of you are united.

At least until Lil’ Bleater expresses her annoyance with the front door being closed with a series of particularly loud bleats.

All you can do is laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> soooo this started because an anon on my tumblr (owillofthewisps) asked for some Eskel smut. i think they probably weren't expecting 5k of it, but to be fair, neither was i.
> 
> i've never written Eskel before and it shows but my life is the shrug emoji so here it is.


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